The Gus-Mom connection

Guilt. Among moms it’s pretty much a universal. Over the years, as the creeping recognition of Gus’s ADHD symptoms began to set in, it took me no time at all to begin asking myself what I might have done to cause them.

I’ve researched enough to know that parenting styles and choices can’t actually cause something like ADHD, so I quickly let that particular worry go. But just as I’d indicted myself with my two miscarriages, I began to question myself. What if it was something I’d eaten or done wrong in my pregnancy that caused this?

Rationally, I know it’s unlikely that anything I did caused Gus’s ADHD, but as I’ve gone about my borderline-obsessive research into the condition, I’ve begun to see links between me and Gus. These connections are the stuff of genes, way beyond my control, but Gus and I, we may not be as different as I’d thought.

It’s early in Gus’s school career of course, but here’s what I see so far. He’s an exceedingly bright boy who has a difficult time controlling his impulses and activity level. He’s joyful, mischievous, the class clown. His teachers and classmates find him magnetic and adorable yet exasperating.

Here’s what I remember of myself. I was shy and quiet, well behaved. All along the way, school was a real struggle for me. I did well in classes that I liked and held my interest: English, history. Classes in which I didn’t have a natural aptitude – math, science – were another story. Math, especially, I didn’t understand, so I simply wrote it off and tuned out.

It wasn’t until fairly recently that I even contemplated that something more might have been up with my school difficulties. I was reading an ADHD book, and the author was describing dreamy girls who can’t seem to focus, and the realization hit: that was me.

Girls like me often go undiagnosed with attention difficulties. I caused no disturbances in class. By all accounts I was “cooperative and courteous.” But certainly I also failed to “work up to my potential.” My achievement unquestionably was borderline but perhaps not alarmingly so.

After cleaning out their files, my parents handed me a stack of old report cards a year or two ago. One from third grade stood out. I felt humiliated and then frustrated as I read through my teacher’s comments. My teacher said I was a really sweet girl but often seemed “confused.” My fifth grade teacher made similar comments. My junior high and high school report cards were more of the same. Feeling the sting of embarrassment, I quickly stuffed the papers into the recycling bin.

All these years later, I sat and wondered, why the hell didn’t anyone notice a pattern and investigate it further? I suppose the answer is that it was a different time. Schools and education today are radically changed from what I remember. Lots of difficulties like mine probably went unaddressed.

Sometimes I wish in vain that things could have been different for me, that my problems could have been recognized and remedied. Looking back, I internalized that I was a lazy student and worse, stupid. Stupid stays with you, and it affects my confidence and the way I feel about myself to this day.  

Of course, things turned out OK for me in the end. It took me until the middle of college to find my stride with school. I suppose you could say I adapted. Initially, finding success took me being able to pursue almost exclusively classes that interested me. That, of course, couldn’t happen until about my junior year in college, when my general ed classes were out of the way.

My first semester at UW-Oshkosh, after transferring from UW-Fox Valley, I began taking mostly journalism and history classes. I achieved a 3.9 grade point average that semester and could have cried from the pride and joy I felt. I had made the dean’s list. It was unthinkable.

That taste of success was potent and sustaining and marked the beginning of a sea change for me. Doing well felt amazing, and I wanted to keep up the momentum. I surprised myself in succeeding in classes like micro and macroeconomics. Though numbers to this day make my brain turn to mush, I put in the work and study time, and the grades naturally followed. I graduated college with a cumulative GPA of 3.2, and that may not sound all that astounding. To me it felt like an unimaginably high achievement.

Anxiety about math dogs me to this day. Next semester I will begin my pursuit of a communications degree at the technical college. I had a mini breakdown last week when I learned that the D-plus I’d earned in my college math class was not sufficiently high to transfer over and earn me credit for the math class required for my degree program.

Honestly, I almost decided to scrap the whole idea based on my hate and fear of math. That D-plus – I worked long and hard to achieve it, sad though that may be. Mark spent hours tutoring me. I could do well enough when he and I worked together, but I’d go to take a test, and everything got all mixed up in my head.

Luckily, my tech school adviser was able to make a switch for me and I’ll be able to take a math with business applications class instead of another dreaded college algebra class. I think I can handle it. And maybe it’s for the best. Perhaps I owe it to myself to overcome math – in some way, at least.

I look at my boys, and I feel profound relief that they seemingly don’t share my arithmetic struggles. From what I can tell so far, all three are natural mathematicians. Ben, with his math scores in the 99^th percentile, is a wonder to me. I don’t understand how this can be so, but I feel staggering gratitude.

All my mistakes and stumbles brought me to where I am today, which is a pretty great place. I wish fervently that Gus didn’t have to face the struggles he does, but I know well the stakes, and that makes me all the more determined to fight for his success.

If Gus ever feels down about his challenges, I can say, boy can I relate. But you can do this. Believe me my dear boy when I say that success that is hard-fought is all the sweeter.